


The Geomancer's Shilling

by Nyanner



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, There may be romantic content and pairings in the future, Those won't be the focus of the fic, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanner/pseuds/Nyanner
Summary: In the midst of a half decade long war, a naive geomancer sets out to change his homeland for the better.Galar - currently waging war with Kalos - has seen no small amount of misery. Battered by droughts and floods alike, the region is as calloused as its people have become. In the face of this, Milo Bailey opts to leave the homely borders of Turffield in order to make a difference. Throughout his journey, he's confronted by a familiar cast of characters. They prove invaluable friends and teachers, but whether their allegiance will be enough to truly redesign the fate of the region...That is another matter entirely.
Kudos: 5





	The Geomancer's Shilling

The castle halls gaped silently, vacant but for the chill breath running through its arches. Distantly, the clang of a soldier’s sabaton’s cut through the yawning passages, in a rhythmic march which pulsed off the walls like a racing heart. Desperately, the fledgling knight darted through the maze-like interior of Wyndon Castle, redoubling on his turns like a bird trying to flitter its way through unfamiliar territory. Mercifully, the heavy doors leading to the throne room were unmistakable in their extravagance, letting the witless soldier know he’d found his mark.

The man pushed the solid doors open with the weight of his entire body, throwing them aside and barging into the Crown’s main hall.   
“The Laverre fae were spotted! Your highness, the Kalosian forces have earned the favor of their fae!”

The silence which followed was deafening. The wind, which had been stalking through the marble columns until then, hardly had the strength to shake the weighty banners lining the sides of the empty hall. At the opposite end of the room, the crowned regent Rose lifted his eyes from the war table he’d been painstakingly examining. The general at his immediate left hissed out a curse, glaring at the miserable messenger that had delivered his damning report. “How long ago?!” Barked the man, his tone tempered to slice through the heavy set tension. Alas, the soldier faltered in the face of such ferocity, urging the general to snap once more. “How long ago, dammit?! We’ve no time for you to lose your spine, boy! How long do we have before they’re at our borders?!”

“Enough, Peony.”

The king’s unyielding calm served as stronger steel than the general’s anger. An unreadable glance was exchanged by the two men and - as if reprimanded - General Peony stepped back. With the hostility handled, Rose raised his hand towards the trembling soldier, beckoning the young man closer. “Pray, use our map, friend. Where were the fae spotted and - if possible - how many had joined the Kalosian ranks.”

Any soldier in their right mind would have deferred to elaborating their testimony from the doorway. Alas, shaken as he was, the youth glanced up to his king and approached. King Rose was unlike any monarch; having discarded fine jewelry and a regal cape in favor of mobility. He wore nobility like a discrete badge; a crown made of steel, a vest which more closely resembled a cuirass, and a demeanor which was inviting rather than imposing. The intricate metalwork of his attire didn’t make it any different in function from that of the men on the battlefield, which made it easy for the knight to do exactly as he was told.

“The fae, your majesty,” he stammered. “Scored five dozen men and women at best. Though they were few in number, we could make out some of their partners. Florges and Azumarills. A scout swore he'd seen Clefables among them as well.”

“No sight of a Sylveon then…” Rose intervened, glancing down to the map before them. His fingers stroked the creases of the parchment, tracing the faint outline of Wyndon’s northernmost border. “Had they only freshly arrived at the field?” Despite the king’s gentle encouragement, the soldier responded only with a muted nod. Although the answer was feeble, it was well enough for Rose’s intents. He rewarded the rookie knight with a smile. “You’ve done well, friend. I thank you for the report. Return to your commander at once and, pray, may your shield be sturdy.”

Perhaps the kindly response winded the soldier more than the trip here had done, for it took another moment of addled nodding before the youth understood he’d been dismissed. Darting out the throne room as quickly as he’d come, Rose and Peony remained silent until they’d ensured that the clicking of metal heels had died out.

“... Do you think She’s joined the fray?” Peony asked, his voice little more than a low set growl.

“It is hard to say, but I’d wager the fae wouldn’t participate in this war without Her blessing.” Plucking up a wooden figure from the table, Rose turned it over in his fingers absently. He scrutinized its minute imperfections, the chipped wood particularly noticeable along the base of the carved sword. “Regardless, it is imperative that we act in accordance. For all intents and purposes, we must assume that She accompanies her court. If we’re right, then we will be adequately prepared to handle Her might. If not, then we will thoroughly extinguish the few that have bolstered the Kalosian ranks and deal a hefty blow to their troop’s morale.”

Decisively, the sword is placed at the forefront of rowed pieces of similar color, the woven patterns of war drawing out battles within Rose’s mind.

“Peony, you will lead this strike. I can trust no other to handle the fae and disband them.” Their eyes meet briefly. “Return safely, brother.”

Peony isn’t sure what he sees in Rose’s eyes just then, but he hopes it is faith. The rebellious flame lit in the general’s gut quells under his sibling’s trust and his response is curt. “I swear I will.” Taking this as his final order, Peony swivels to leave the throne room much as the knight had done before him.

“Peony.” The king halts him before he departs.

There’s a brief hesitation before the general replies. “Yes, your Highness?”

“Bring Leon back with you.”

The request hangs overhead, shuddering off the cold stone. Peony doesn’t answer, but Rose didn’t expect any different. The battle-hardened general departs, the room darker without his presence. Left to his own devices, Rose’s attention pins firmly to the diagrammed battlegrounds before him. A lame man would look at the tactical table, inspect the variety of pieces there placed, and deduce that both sides were evenly matched.   
Rose knew better.

The war - which had been raging for the better part of five years - was at an impasse and quickly exhausting men and resources. That was expected. However, Galar had been victim of droughts and floods for two years now. They barely had enough to feed the soldiers at the frontlines; what’s to say the common folk far from war. Public unrest grew exponentially, and although Rose was a greatly loved monarch, his reputation could endure little more before the civilians broke out in chaos. Galar could not afford to drag this war for any longer than it’s gone.

Rose had no intention of allowing as much.

“Oleana,” He spoke into the empty throne room. “How go the scriptures?”

The walls offered no answer. The dark whispered no words. But Rose listened closely, his dark eyes closed, and he heard a voice clearly in his thoughts. “As we’d surmised, they’re written in an ancient draconic dialect. We’re progressing quicker now. However, our scholars are finding incongruencies between the texts. A means of proper summons is still unclear, your Majesty.”

“Not the answer I’d have liked.” Rose sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to alleviate the pressure behind his temples. “... Can anything be done to speed their translation?”

“No, your Majesty.” The voice replies, monotonous and direct. “But we have identified material and focuses required to conduct the ritual. All the texts describe some form of mineral rich in magic, apparently used to feed the summon and ensure it’s physical stability.”

“Some good news, at last.” Though it wasn’t particularly what he would’ve hoped for, Rose would rather play with the hand he was dealt than to weep what he didn’t have. Once again, his eyes roamed the table at his front, stroking the age stained map like it might reveal something to him. His mind wandered, tracing the mountainous peaks to the east of Motostoke, intrigued. “... Identify the mineral, Oleana. We will prepare what we must in advance. Once we decipher the means, then it is imperative that we meet the requirements to follow through.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The voice speaks one final time, then there is vacancy.

It is only him now. A king in an empty throne room, within a deserted palace. For a moment, Rose thinks he can hear the rallying troops not too far north of Wyndon. He can feel their march as it shakes the ground beneath his feet. He can nearly taste their dread. His chest twists with anguish, a deep-seated sorrow turns the knife plunged in his heart. Rose watches over the map, softly stroking the borders of his homeland as if in so doing he could keep all of Galar together.

“... Not much longer now.” He speaks, with no audience there save the map. “Hold fast. I swore to bring us all to prosperity and I will.”

“Galar will rise.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to contact me, I can be reached through the blog cottonthumb @ tumblr.


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